These excerpts come from the December 27th, 1932 issue of Industrial Worker. We at the Industrial Worker would like to wish you and yours a lovely holiday (as lovely as it can be during a global pandemic!) and a happy New Year. Thank you for giving us another year of your undying support. Cheers to 113 more years of the Industrial Worker, may the class struggle only last half as much longer.
With love,
The Industrial Worker.
Down for the Count
by T-Bone Slim
Christmas morning, will she say, "I love you." Or will she pant and hiss and bay Above you. "Get outta this house, you Low-life rat; I'm no longer your spouse. Go! Get your hat."
I don’t blame her a gosh shang bit — if I was a woman I’d hate to be living in the same house with a scissorbill, one of those poor, helpless creatures that never quite had sense enough to join the IWW. So frail and brittle and fragile that he falls to pieces, when he sits down — if the (?)uite doesn’t happen to be one of those of “a thousand springs.” He’s so delicate he’s got to have elastics to hold his pants up or his chest will cave in — no backbone and a straight gut, you know what I mean, the food falls right through him, nothing there to stop it — that’s why he’s always hungry.
You pretty near got to put him abed with rope and tackle, counterweights and plenty of padding else his hide will tear orhe will go all out of join and shape…
Was there anything more corruptly build than he? Of the poorest materials, shoddy manhood, and imitation ambition? Always waiting for some one else to act on his behalf — I’ll tell you frankly, editor, he’s not an IWW because he’s so meek and humble and tame that fifty cents to him is a fortume, big money — he ain’t seen much money for the same reasons, “M” and “H” and T”. An initiation fee to him resembles a life-time income. He knows as well as anybody that IWW is the place for him — but he just hasn’t got good sense…
If the woman ever kicks him out, he’s out. What could he do in this big cruel world if the woman wasn’t there to build a fire under him every time his blood congeals and he feels like giving the boss a gold platter full of worlds?
I mean, a platter full of gold worlds.
The Mockery of Xmas
What we have we got to do with the birth of the prophert of the Brotherhood of Man?
There is no peace on earth, there is no good will toward men.
Heaven will sigh and Hell will grin.
Yes, the Gentiles of the earth will celebrate Xmas!
A Merry Xmas to the widows and orphans, their name is legions this Xmas morn.
A Merry Xmas to the desolate homes of the poor, with no food, fuel, shoes or clothing this cold wintery Xmas day.
A Merry Xmas to millions of unemployed whose Xmas dinner will be a boal of soup and a flop on a cement floor.
Only a fool would mouth such a mockery!
A Merry Xmas and a Happy New Year for God only intended this earth for rich gamblers, cunning fakirs, rough riders, bootleggers, and such.
Do what you’re told and don’t complain.
If you will continue to believe such rot and keep your damn mouth shut you will be gloriously happy when you give up the ghost.
The gates of Heaven will be open, no questions asked, no ticket required.
For no other reason than that you were meek and lowly and willing to work for 00 cents a day and kept out of unions and did not disturb your master business of robbery.
Join the One Big Union, the IWW, then you will have happiness 365 days each year.
Banish the capitalists from the earth,
Then you will have peace on earth.
Xmas is just the 25th day of December to the great majority of the people.
Everyday will be Xmas when the Brotherhood of Man is made possible by the Industrial Commonwealth of the Future.